


illicit affairs

by ephemerallove



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Porn With Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex, absurdly dramatic because I'M BORED OK, bit of a sitcom vibe a bit of drama a lot of porn, clarke's kind of horny brat here ngl, daddy bellamy, echo is a raging bitch, only a 9 year age gap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerallove/pseuds/ephemerallove
Summary: When Clarke starts her six-month apprenticeship at Ark Group, she doesn‘t expect her boss to be the guy she hooked up with at a frat party only two days ago, and even less for him be the boyfriend of the very girl that used to bully her in high school. But revenge is best served cold.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 68
Kudos: 249





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea of an employer/employee fic for the longest time now but I never thought I'd actually write it because me and the 100 aren't friends anymore BUT some time ago I was looking for a specific tag in bellarke fics and didn't find it so now I obviously have to write this for myself lol (and let it derail... naturally)
> 
> For the sake of my sanity and motivation I'll keep the chapters short so that I can update more often, though I won't make any promises because my brain likes to keep things interesting and completely stop working at random times
> 
> If you want specific content warnings regarding the sex let me know so I'll include those

Clarke has no idea how she’s gotten herself into this situation.

Maybe it’s Raven’s fault. No, it’s _definitely_ her fault since she was the one to be all, “C’mon, let’s go this frat party before our lives turn dull and serious for the next six months. It will be fun!” before disappearing with some dude the very minute they entered the house. This, of course, leaves Clarke no choice but to drink herself stupid so that her overly anxious mind loosens up a bit and allows her to have fun with a bunch of strangers without hiding in a dark corner somewhere. And then — well, booze probably takes the blame here, too — she ends up pressed against the bathroom door, furiously making out with a random guy.

The thing is, Clarke doesn't do hookups.

Either she's too anxious to make a move, or she immediately ends up falling head-first into a relationship with the people she likes that drags on for far too long and, in the end, leaves both parties half-ruined. So the fact that she's currently kissing this guy — who's very hot and probably way out of her league, by the way — must mean the alcohol she inhaled must have hit even more than she expected. It's good, though. For once, Clarke doesn't immediately regret it because Blake — that's what someone yelled across the room when the two of them made their way towards the bathroom — is good with his tongue and his hands and —

"Oh my god," she gasps when Blake's fingers travel under her shirt, grabbing her breasts and massaging them before flicking her nipples. "Shit."

It's been a while since she ever felt so... so _turned on_. Finn was —- well, he was her first-ever boyfriend and sexual partner, so she didn't have much to compare it to except the occasional porn she watched and heard about now and then. Lexa was much better in that department, but Clarke felt so nervous about making a mistake most of the time she barely got to relax and enjoy it before their relationship eventually fell apart. _This, though —_ sure, it might be the booze and the adrenaline of being overheard because there are people right outside the door — but Clarke swears there's something about this guy and the whole encounter, really, that makes it hotter than any kind of experience she's had before.

She's burning up.

Blake lets one of his hands travel lower, grazing the waistband of her jeans as he places a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "You're okay with this?"

"Please," she says. "Yes."

There's a brief moment of blissful peace where he just lets his mouth linger against her skin, his breath hot and tingly, before he grips her chin and kisses her, deep and wet, leaving Clarke breathless with dizzy excitement as his hand dips beneath both her jeans and her slip, down her folds.

It's just one touch, but it drives her insane anyway. Clarke throws her head back, letting out a loud breath. Blake makes quick work of her belt and jeans with this other hand and lets them fall to the floor soon enough. When she's bare from the waist down, Clarke dares to take another good look at him, making sure he is actually the good-looking and funny guy she randomly started talking to in the kitchen before one thing led to another. He is.

His face breaks out into a smirk. “You don’t do this often, do you?”

Clarke’s own face falls. “That obvious?” she asks before thinking any better of it.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just — you don’t look like someone who regularly fucks at parties, that’s all.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t assume so much.”

“Am I wrong, though?”

“Beside the point.”

He laughs and drives a hand through his hair. “All right, princess. You’re okay, though? Not doing this because —"

"Just shut up already." She rolls her eyes and pulls him closer with her hand on the back of his neck. Their lips meet for another kiss, and he teases her mouth open with small, lazy bites, Clarke letting him lick inside her, enjoying every swipe and stroke of tongue. It only gets messier when he starts rubbing her clit with his thumb.

Outside the door, she hears someone say something along the lines of "is there someone in there?" and surprisingly enough, instead of shutting up with fear, she only gasps louder, feeling more turned on than ever. Blake, either noticing it or just going with the flow, uses the moment to tease his finger inside her, wiggling his finger back and forth.

"Yes, oh my god —"

Without any warning, he picks her up by the legs and places her on the sink on the other side of the small bathroom. Her legs fall open, and Blake's fingers find a place between them again, two of them dipping f _inally_ inside her, making an obscene sound.

"You're so fucking wet," he murmurs against the delicate skin on her neck. "Bet you've been thinking about this ever since you saw me, yeah?"

Clarke doesn't have enough wits to properly respond except for a broken moan, her back arching against him as he fucks into her with his fingers.

"Thought about riding my fingers from the start, huh?"

It's bullshit and lowkey cheesy, but god does she feel it. Clarke has never come from fingering alone — she always needed Lexa to eat her out at the same time — but right now, the pressure against that _one delicious spot_ deep inside her makes her think this is all about to change. Except that Blake starts trailing down her body and then he's kneeling right between her legs and his tongue flicks against her clit, making her see fucking starts, while his fingers thrust and thrust and thrust and someone outside yells something stupid and Clarke just loses it completely.

She comes holding onto both Blake and the sink, trying not to fall down and getting more of the friction when it's still possible as he licks and fucks her through her orgasm with one hand squeezing her ass. When Clarke's done, the spasms easing off, she lets out an incredulous laugh.

"What's so funny, princess?"

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head, "nothing, really." Just the fact that both of her ex-partners had to spend hours down there to make her come, and this random guy managed it in a few minutes. It's probably the alcohol, but still...

Apparently satisfied with that answer, he trails up her body. “What do you want?” he asks her, lips around her nipple.

Clarke's chest thrusts against him, her mouth failing to form clear sentences. “I want — I want —” Clarke doesn’t know what it is that she wants because she wants _everything_. Him fucking her, his mouth back on her pussy, or her lips around his cock — yeah.

“I want to suck you off,” she finally manages.

He lets go of her nipple and gives her a look. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she breathes out in a snappish tone before hopping off the sink and getting on her knees. “I will blow you, and then you will fuck me,” Clarke informs him as he undoes his zipper on his jeans and pulls it all down.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he says with laughter in his voice. “Have at it.”

Clarke only gives him a quick glance before focusing on his cock. His thick, big, and not really unpleasant cock — circumsised and actually decent to look at.

Carefully, she wraps her hand around him and jerks him off for a few moments before halting her movements and licking across the slit. Bellamy touches her head, not pushing her or anything of that sort, but simply stroking the hair out of her face, which feels awfully intimate for a random hook up at some frat party.

Clarke ignores his hand and wraps her lips around his cock. It’s a tight fit if she’s completely honest — even just around the tip of it. Finn’s dick was definitely easier and smaller in this department, but _so much less fun._

She makes a game out of how far she can take him before her gag reflex kicks in and before Blake finally shows some sort of reaction. It’s when her hand starts playing with his balls, rolling them between her fingers, while she quickens her pace that he finally lets out a quiet groan above her. His hand tightens in her hair.

Clarke has to grin, which makes it a bit more difficult, to get his cock down her throat, and shortly after, she has to break away for a quick moment, feeling breathless and dizzy.

Blake gets her attention by pinching her face. “Get up here —”

“Just let me,” she says and takes pride in the way his hips twitch when she takes him deeper than she did before, now that her throat is somehow accustomed to the size and length. She's never tried to _really_ deepthroat anyone before — Finn's dick was too small to call it deepthroating — and she does get tears in her eyes when she feels it hit against the back of her throat, but Blake shudders, and it feels fucking good.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, “I thought you said you wanted me to fuck you?”

She just swallows, and he lets out a half-laugh, half-curse.

When Clarke feels his cock starting to pulse, she pulls off, a string of spit connecting her mouth and his cock, and smiles, before getting up, turning around and holding onto the sink. This won't take long anymore.

Blake doesn't say anything, but she feels his hands land on both sides of her ass before he pushes the tip of her cock against her entrance. Closing her eyes, Clarke lets out a hiss. He feels so damn big against her, and it's making her feel —

"You good?"

"Yeah," she says quickly. "Just — just fuck me already."

He lets one hand travel under her shirt again until he's grabbing her right breast, and then he pushes inside in one slow motion. Whatever word she was about to say leaves Clarke in a breath, and she buries her face against her arm as Blake starts up a quick and merciless rhythm. After a few deep thrusts, his hands tighten strong enough on her hips to leave bruises and then his strokes still, his cock twitching inside her before she feels him coming inside her.

Clarke didn't come again, but weirdly enough, it felt good anyway. She lets herself smile when he pulls out, feeling stupidly proud.

Blake puffs out a breath, shaking his head, and tucks his cock back inside his boxer briefs before pulling up his jeans. “That was… hot.”

Clarke feels herself blush, cheeks flaming hot with both excitement and alcohol rushing through her veins. "Yeah." Then she casts a look towards the toilet. "Uh, I really gotta pee."

“Sure,” he says and leaves the bathroom without another word.

It’s only when she’s sitting on the toilet that Clarke realizes what exactly has happened in the last few hours. She let a stranger get her off in a fucking bathroom at a frat party.

It’s a weird mixture of pride and cringing. In the end, she just tells herself that it doesn’t matter, that she’s twenty-one, and experiences like this are not uncommon in college. C’est la vie.

Clarke comes out of the bathroom with a strange smile, which, kind of, disappears when she notices that the guy is gone. He isn’t downstairs either — only a bunch of passed out kids and two crackheads snorting lines in the kitchen.

That’s all right, too, she tells herself on the way home. People you hook up with aren’t obligated to kiss you good night and bring you home. And that’s all he was, a crazy handsome, skilled guy.

Nothing more.

—————-

The next morning Clarke wakes up because her pillow is vibrating like crazy. Or, no — it’s her phone, and some sick bastard is calling her at the ass crack of dawn. Without looking at the caller ID, she picks up and groans out a, “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Raven’s voice says at the other end of the line. “Your terrible, treacherous friend.”

“Fuck you —”

“I’m sorry for ditching —”

“— for waking me up this early.”

“What? It’s two in the afternoon. And you’re not mad?”

“No, Reyes. It’s all good.”

“Really?”

“ _Yes._ I had... fun, actually.”

“ _Really?”_

Clarke tries not to take offense at the disbelief in her friend’s voice. “Yeah,” she snorts, “really, Raven. I, kind of, hooked up with someone.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“How was it? Anyone I know?”

“... Good, and not that I'm aware of. I never saw him around campus either. What about you? What were you and Shaw up to?”

“You know, the usual.”

“Sex in a closet?"

There's a puff of laughter on the other line. "No, in the pool house, actually. I almost slipped and broke my ass. I'm telling you that shit's dangerous."

"Maybe if you two just made it official and started sleeping with each other on a _bed_ like, you know, _normal people..."_

"How boring," Raven scoffs, and even though Clarke made the suggestions herself, she has to agree. Letting Bellamy get her off in a bathroom, with people probably able to hear them... it makes her toes curls even now. There's just something about it that makes it feel times better than usual sex.

Huh.

That's some food for thought.

"Clarke?"

"Oh, right," she says with a frown. "Yeah?"

"I'm off now, I just wanted to hear that you're alive and not lying in a ditch somewhere."

"I am."

"— and apologize for being such an awful friend. Next time, please just slap me if I think about disappearing again."

"Hey, I'm actually glad last night happened, so no slapping of any sort."

"Whatever, Griffin. Good luck on Monday, yeah?"

"You too, Raven."

* * *

She spends the rest of her weekend deep-cleaning her apartment and making cue cards with facts and numbers on the company of her apprenticeship, so she's prepared for anything. She's going to ace this and ace the last four semesters of college, and she's going to show her mom that choosing graphic design was _not_ the biggest mistake of her life. It's not a waste.

At night, her thoughts wander, and Clarke finds herself soon rubbing herself off to the image of the hot _Blake_ guy from the frat party. She sleeps exceptionally well that night.

* * *

She wakes up several hours early on her first day, makes herself fried eggs, downs two cups of coffee, goes over the notes she made, and then uses the remaining time to do her hair and make-up. It's not that she's really nervous, more that she's excited — the interview she had made it clear that the spot sounds perfect — and has a lot of things riding on this opportunity.

Ark Group is located in one of Seattle's skyscrapers, the offices taking up the entire twenty-fifth floor. Clarke already received a chip, a name tag as well as a locker in the changing room after she landed the apprenticeship. When she arrives, a young woman, not much older than her, is waiting for her there, a big smile on her face. "Clarke Griffin, right?"

"Hi. That's me."

"Harper Mcintyre," she says and stretches out her hand. "I'm the contract designer and will be the one to work you in. Welcome to Ark Group!"

Harper turns out to be just as kind and friendly as the smile she offered Clarke, giving her a tour around the office and showing her everything that's important and introducing her to the people she'll be working with for the next six months, all while keeping up an endless stream of friendly chatter, gently probing Clarke for any previous work experiences. They're pretty much done when Harper says, “oh, and there's the department manager Bellamy Blake.”

Clarke almost runs into the wall.

 _Blake_.

“Are you all right?” Harper asks, concern written in her features.

Clarke gives her a nod. _Surely_ , this is someone else and not the person she thinks it. Blake — it’s a common name and as far as she knows it was the guy’s first name, not family n—

“Morning, ladies.”

She freezes.

“Oh, Bellamy. This is Clarke, the new apprentice,” Harper says and waves at her.

It gives Clarke no choice but to turn around slowly —

_Please, don’t be him, please don’t be him, please, don’t be hi—_

_—_ and look at the same guy she was sucking off not even forty-eight hours ago.

Her world shatters. Somewhere crops die. Clarke dies over and over again as she stares into his face, unable to say anything coherent.

This is a nightmare.

“Clarke,” he — Blake — Bellamy Blake says then, his rough voice piercing through the never-ending wailing in her ears, “nice to meet you.”

He offers his hand. And an opportunity to pretend nothing ever happened.

Blinking, Clarke accepts it and shakes it slowly. Memories of these same hands slipping into her underwear flash in front of her eyes —

“The pleasure is all mine,” she hears herself say like some sort of robot.

He gives her a quick smile and asks, “How long will you be staying?”

“Six months.”

Six entire months she’ll have to see him, somehow look him in the eye and pretend that she doesn’t know the curve and taste of his —

“Well, I hope you’ll enjoy it. I, uh —“ For the first time since she’s met him, there’s something else than confidence and smugness in his demeanor “— I have somewhere to be now. If you excuse me.”

Harper nods, smiling completely innocently and watching him stride through the office with Clarke. Then the girl turns to her, brows furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”

“Yeah, I think I just didn’t eat enough this morning.”

“Nervous about the first day?”

“You could say that.”

“No, need,” Harper assures her, “our team is truly great, I promise. And Bellamy’s the best boss you could ever imagine having. You will love him.”

Clarke can't help but cringe.

The rest of Harper’s introduction tours passes in a blur as Clarke tries not to go crazy with anxiety and irritation. How is it possible that of _all the eight hundred thousand people_ in this city, her boss turns out to be the person she had a thing with two nights ago? It’s a joke. The universe is making fun of her. Or, it’s God punishing her for her sins. Either way, another important question is, why the hell the boss of Ark Group visits frat parties in his spare time? And how old does that make him?

On Saturday, he looked like he was in his early twenties with his navy shirt and black jeans. Now, with his blue tailored suit, he looks not only older but a hundred times more mature. (Still, very attractive, if not _more.)_

Clarke is glad when Harper eventually leaves her to her own devices. It’s sort of exhausting to pretend to listen to someone when her mind is blasting the alarm siren all the damn time.

However, mere minutes after, she sees two big familiar hands land on her desk, and she looks up to see Bellamy looming in front of her. Clarke’s heart plummets.

“Can I talk to you in my office?” he asks.

She nods and gets up to follow him. They pass some of her new co-workers on the way, most of them giving her friendly smiles, and Clarke only manages a half-assed twitch of her mouth in return. If only they knew.

His office is cloaked in a grey-blue color, offering enough room for more than five people, and a view over the skyline. Again, Clarke wonders how long Bellamy has already been working here to gain this position and such a pretty office. Maybe he’s just the spoiled son of someone.

“Look, Clarke,” Bellamy’s voice cuts through her thoughts. He’s sitting now, leaning comfortably back in his chair. “This situation is unfortunate. None of us knew we would end up working together, so I suggest we simply forget about the entire night and start new. What do you say?”

She blinks. To her surprise, a small part has the actual audacity to feel disappointed. It’s not like she was hoping for him to declare his undying love for her now, or anything of the romantic sort. But perhaps a dramatic work affair? There was just something easy about sleeping with him, something Clarke lacked in her past relationships. It was nice. She wouldn’t have been opposed to starting something purely sexual with him even though it would go terribly wrong in the end.

“Clarke?” Bellamy says, brows raised.

Oh, right.

Instead of answering his question — or rather proposal, she asks, “What were you doing at that frat party?”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me,” she crosses her arms, “you’re a big shot at… this company. An adult. It doesn’t make sense why you would go to such a party in your free time. It’s creepy.

He looks baffled. Clarke feels proud of wiping that constant expression of smugness off his handsome face.

“A good friend of mine threw it,” he finally says. “And most of the people there were graduates, mind you, so not that far from my own age.”

“And how old exactly are you?”

“Twenty-nine. You?”

“Twenty.”

Bellamy’s eyes actually widen, and he leans forward. “Twenty?! What were you doing at such a party?”

Clarke’s eyes narrow. “It’s college. I go to whatever party I want to regardless of my age.”

“What are you doing at this apprenticeship then? I was in the belief it was only for undergraduates?”

“I skipped two years in high school,” she says with a shrug. “I could ask you the same question. You’re twenty-nine. How exactly did you come to be in this position already?”

With the same nonchalance Clarke talked about seconds earlier, Bellamy replies, “Dedication and hard work.”

So not a spoiled son? Interesting.

Then Bellamy shakes his head, bracing on his elbows. “All this aside. Do you agree to skip the whole sex thing?”

Clarke lets out a sigh and nods eventually. “Sure. Yeah. I won’t make a big deal out of it, nor tell anyone that I fucked my boss.”

“It was barely a fuck,” Bellamy says, making a face, and she rolls her eyes. Men are so sensitive about bases and terms.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Bellamy gives her a detached smile. “Then, you’re free to return to your work, Mrs. Griffin.”

Clarke turns around, about to leave again when she notices several framed pictures on the shelf to her right. One picture shows Bellamy and a young, dark-haired girl with braids grinning into the camera, arm in arm. They look similar. Siblings? The other, however, is a picture of him kissing a woman from behind.

Her blood spikes.

She grabs the picture and spins around, basically shoving it into his face. “You are in a relationship?!”

Bellamy blinks, taken aback by her explosion. “It’s more complicated than th—”

“How can it be complicated?” she half-yells. “It’s simple! Do you have a girlfriend or not? Did you cheat on her or not?”

“I didn’t cheat. We were broken up over the weekend.”

“Over the weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“And now?”

“Now, we’re back together.”

“But that’s — that’s so fucked up,” she stammers out before her gaze focuses back on the picture and the woman specifically. Something about her funny faces feels familiar, those eyes and that ugly, false smile —

Oh.

Oh, no.

She knows this woman.

It’s Echo — the girl that bullied her in high school.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the love and feedback! i hope you guys will enjoy this ride of a story <3

"That's —" Her words come out in a stammer. "— no way, that's Echo...?"

There's a moment of silence. Then. "You know Echo?"

Clarke tears her eyes away from the picture and glances at Bellamy. He doesn't look surprised — he doesn't look like much of anything, really. "Used to," Clarke says and barely remembers to hold in the _thank god_. If this is her _boss's_ girlfriend, she can't go around insulting her. Then again, their relationship sure doesn't seem to be as stable as that photograph shows if one of them can fuck around at parties and then go back to it without even blinking. "She was a few classes above me in high school."

"Well," Bellamy says, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention what happened between us."

"That's it? That's all you're going to say?" _Don't mention that we had sex — good! sex! — to my girlfriend who also, by the way, used to bully you._

Bellamy's brows furrow, but if anything, he looks more amused than irritated. "What do you want me to say, Clarke? It happened. I didn't know who you were. Trust me, if I did, I would have never even looked at you. I worked too hard to get where I am now to jeopardize it all over a quick fuck."

Clarke bites down on her teeth. It's the truth, of course. It's good, too, because that means they can just move forward and pretend like it never happened, but —

No. No buts.

It's _good,_ she tells herself.

"Fine," Clarke presses out and places the photograph of him and his girlfriend and her awfully done nose job back on the counter. "I won't tell a soul if you don't, either." She nods behind her. "I am not planning to be known as the apprentice that only got the post because she hopped on the manager's dick. So if you even think about talking to your buddies about me, I'll drag you down with me, got it?"

Bellamy huffs out a breath. He smiles. "Sure, princess."

"My name's _Clarke_ ," she spits out. "I doubt you would go around and call Harper or Monroe princess, so please shut that out."

"Obviously," he agrees, to her surprise. "Anything else? I'm going to be late for lunch with my girlfriend."

Her stomach twists, but her expression doesn't falter. "No. We're done. Enjoy your meal, _boss."_

* * *

Clarke is running late.

It‘s only her _second_ day at her internship, and she‘s already late. And it‘s all Bellamy Blake‘s fault.

Everything would‘ve been okay despite the one night stand with the person that turned out to be her boss two days later, but Bellamy _had_ to be an asshole that was apparently in a relationship with none other than the girl that used to make her high school life a living hell.

Echo Dofflemyer. God, even the name makes her skin crawl.

Bellamy also _had to_ cut her off in the parking lot and steal _her_ fucking spot, so that she's running three minutes late now and _sweating_ from the fast pace.

Clarkes _hates_ sweating.

She also hates Bellamy fucking Blake, she concludes as the elevator doors finally slide open and she stalks down the hall. Yes, the possibilities that he knew who was in the Audi A4 are admittedly slim. Yes, Clarke's still going to be pissed because this situation sucks, especially because right there in the passenger seat was sitting Echo.

"Morning," someone — no, Bellamy drawls from inside the staff room, getting himself coffee and looking awfully smug about it.

Clarke shoots him a withering glare before heading for the next door. If Bellamy's allowed to steal her parking spot, then she's allowed to act like a bitch about it. These are the rules.

Harper's smile that greets her inside the changing room quickly turns into a concerned frown when Clarke practically throws her coat off her back. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, grabbing a free hanger. "Just... some asshole that stole my spot."

"Oh, yeah, the parking situation's kind of icky here. In the whole city, actually."

"Mhh. Are they strict about being late here?"

"As long as it doesn't happen every day, no, and if it does, Bellamy will throw in a good word." Harper offers her a wide grin. "If he likes you."

Great.

It all depends on Bellamy fucking Blake yet again.

Thankfully, work keeps her busy for the next hours, distracting Clarke from her awful morning. She's been introduced to the tasks she'll have to do for the next six months on her first day already, but today she actually gets to work by herself a bit, sketching up several design concepts and playing around with the various fancy programs on her computer. It's as much fun as it is slightly terrifying.

At lunch, she follows Harper to the staff room, and she gets herself a cup of coffee while unpacking the salad she bought on the way here. Harper's telling her about that one rude client they had a few weeks ago when there's the loud clack of heels against the floor, and seconds later, Echo walks in.

Clarke's appetite vanishes.

"Harper, darling, can you help me with something?"

"Sure." Harper gets up and nods over at Clarke. "This is Clarke, by the way. One of our new apprentices."

Echo's gaze wanders, and her smile freezes. "Clarke Griffin," she says.

"Oh, you two know each other already?"

"We were in the same high school," Clarke explains, offering a superficial smile and wave of the hand. "Hi."

"Huh. I didn't expect to ever see you again." Then Echo turns to Harper, like Clarke _isn't_ the same person whose nudes she helped leaking, and dismisses her. "I want to get Bell a new chair for his office, but I'm not sure about the colors."

"Let me see."

The two of them crowd over Echo's phone, swiping back and forth between pictures, and Clarke awkwardly goes back to stuffing salad in her mouth and shooting off a text to Raven. They both knew their lives would be busy — hence the frat party — but now that her boss is a cheating whore who's in a relationship with the worst person on the planet, Clarke desperately needs a girls night. White wine and Raven are better than therapy.

She only tears her eyes away from the food when Echo leaves, and Harper sits down again. "Was that just me, or did I feel very weird vibes between the two of you?"

"Uh," Clarke makes a face. "That's the girlfriend of our manager. I'd rather not comment."

"Please, your secrets are safe with me."

"We weren't the best of friends in school. Not at all, but... it's fine. It's ancient history."

"I was pretty intimidated by her too at first, but she's... friendly. And if someone as good as Bellamy is in a relationship with her, then there must be something good about her, right?"

Clarke can't help but cringe. "Is Bellamy really that nice? Don't get me wrong, he seems... cool, but in the end, he's just a manager, right?"

Harper's grin only gets wider. "Oh, trust me, he's the best. I mean, most of us are all friends outside work, too, so I might be a bit biased, but he's a great guy. You'll see once you're settled in."

Clarke highly doubts it, but she doesn't say that. Instead, she switches topics and asks some questions, she noted down this morning, blissfully ignoring the mess that's about to become her life here.

The rest of the workday passes without any more incidents that involve Bellamy Blake or Echo, and Clarke actually finds herself holding in her laughter when Jasper, Ark Group's FrontEnd Developer, and Monty, the Video Editor, come over and linger at her desk, sharing _hot gossip_ about their co-workers that pass them — "Miller once downed half a bottle of vodka, threw up and lost a shoe!" It's fine.

* * *

The next morning, she's in a better mood, arriving _on time_ with a hot cup of Cappucino for the semi-weekly group meeting. That is, until they're discussing a new client — not majorly big, but _decent —_ and Bellamy takes a long look around the table and says, "Mrs. Griffin. You could take over, couldn't you?"

The coffee nearly gets stuck in her throat, Clarke having to cough into her hand several times before she gets a grip. "Uh, sure?"

Bellamy raises a brow, tilting his head.

"Sure," she repeats more firmly this time. "Yes."

"Good."

And without any more questions, Bellamy proceeds.

Clarke does not.

She glances at the other apprentices — Roma looks slightly pissed off; meanwhile, John seems relieved that he wasn't the one to be put into this position. Clarke didn't imagine it, right? Bellamy put her on the spot. Why on earth would he give a job like _this_ to her, an apprentice, that's been here for less than three days? Does he just want to see her fail so that he'll have a reason to fire her later? Is that it?

Clarke's fists clench under the conference desk.

That bastard.

If he had a problem with this situation, Bellamy should have said so from the beginning instead of playing nice.

Whatever.

Clarke will just have to be better than that. She can do this.

The meeting ends, and everyone goes back to their own tasks. If this were any other manager, Clarke would stay and ask a few essential questions, but this is Bellamy, and he clearly wants to sabotage her, so fuck that. After grabbing the sheet of paper with information and printed e-mails, Clarke returns to her desk and goes to work.

* * *

She was wrong. She can't do this.

Or, Clarke _could_ — if she had a bit more practical experience other than her first two days at Ark Group and the three years of _theoretical_ graphic design classes. Right now, though, she's utterly clueless about the whole process. She keeps running to Harper's table, asking her basic questions every five minutes, and Harper, bless her, is kind enough to answer them in detail, but she has her own client to work on, so...

So Clarke feels completely stranded.

She goes over the phone conversation she just had with the client — a woman with her own small ice cream shop, using only locally sourced ingredients who's looking to expand her brand. In theory, it's doable. A new design for the ice cream truck driving around Seattle and packaging and the special lip balm she offers. It's much more work than it sounds like, though, and the woman has asked for first draft sketches _by next week_ , and Clarke has no idea where to even start.

Opening the design program, Clarke takes a deep breath.

At that moment, she feels a heavy presence looming over her. She looks up to see Bellamy above her. "How's it going?"

"Good," she says, her voice much steadier than she feels. "Fine. Awesome."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I just had a phone call with the client. She was... nice."

"But you know what to do? No questions? Issues?"

"No, I'm fine," she snaps. "I know what to do."

It might be her imagination, but Bellamy's smile becomes sharp. "Okay. If you need anything, you know where to find me. Harper and the rest of the team are there for you, too."

Clarke turns back to the computer, nodding. "Yeah. Thanks."

Not even an hour later, Clarke finds herself mentally preparing herself to knock at Bellamy's door. Harper has been on the phone for a while, busy, and this is one of those issues best to discuss with Bellamy anyway.

Still, this sucks.

After a short pep-talk, Clarke closes her eyes and knocks.

A long moment later, she hears a "Come in."

And, of course, Bellamy's not alone. Echo is sitting on his desk.

God. What did she do to deserve this?

"Hey," Bellamy says. "Something up?"

"Yeah, uh. I have a question."

"I'm all ears."

Echo lets out a loud breath and gets up, driving a hand through her hair. "I guess this is my cue to go. See you at home, babe." As she passes Clarke, she says, "Great to see you again, Clarke."

Clarke's too surprised to offer a reply before the door falls shut. Blinking, she frowns.

"Clarke?"

"Oh, yes."

She rattles off the questions, and Bellamy, instead of simply answering like a decent person would, makes a whole mystery out of it until Clarke basically answers them herself. Asshole. She bristles at his tone, but, at least, she has something to go on from here.

Once they're through, Bellamy's eyes raise up to her, that endless amusement dancing in them. "That all?"

"Yes," Clarke huffs, "that's all."

It feels like he has more to say, clearly waiting for something that she refuses to give him, so eventually, he leans back in his chair and says, "Good."

Clarke gives him another nod just for the sake of professionalism and then leaves the room. Hopefully, she won't be knocking on his door _that_ often in the future.

* * *

For the next few days, she works on her sketches and ideas, keeping in contact with the client. She spends lunch with either Harper or Jasper and Monty, who seem to have found a liking to her, always coming around with some sort of joke that will immediately cheer her up when she's stressed.

They're in the staff room, Jasper talking about his upcoming birthday when Bellamy enters the room. Clarke's so used to see that smug expression on his face that the storm in his eyes makes her blink in confusion. He looks exhausted _, irritated._

"Clarke," he barks as soon as he spots her, and she immediately straightens.

"What?"

"Why's the client blowing up _my_ phone because she can't reach you while you're holding chitchats here?"

"What?" Clarke gets out her phone and stupidly notices that it's on silent. Four missed calls. "I was on break," she murmurs, frowning. "Did something happ—"

"Break or not, answer your damn phone. And you two," Bellamy shoots a glare at Jasper and Monty, whose faces are a mask of innocence, "stop fucking distracting her every chance you get. You might get your shit done while talking each other's ears off, but Clarke can't, so let her work, damn it."

He storms off as fast as he came and leaves an awkward and tense silence behind.

Clarke closes her eyes for a few seconds before pushing all of her emotions down and getting up. "Uh, I'll go now," she tells them.

"Hey, don't look so sad." Jasper's grinning as usual as he waves a hand. "Bellamy's probably just having a weird day."

"Yeah, don't worry. Just give the woman a call back and see what's up." Monty nods reassuringly, but Clarke doesn't feel any better about it. God forbid, she doesn't answer her phone _once_. She's still getting used to the routine around here, and Bellamy acts like she's a complete failure because of this one thing? Just because he's in a bad mood?

It turns out that the client wants an added feature — a designed map that shows where exactly the ingredients come from, which means more work in the same amount of time. Clarke can do it, she's sure of it, but it adds to the headache that's already growing in her head.

At some point, she gets up to use the restroom, but a familiar voice stops her in the empty hallway.

"— told you I can't," she hears Bellamy say, sounding tired. "I'm sorry, Echo. I know it's not —" The lack of answers means he must be on the phone to his girlfriend. "I've mentioned that I'll have a meeting that day already two damn months ago. How's that my fault? Seriously? Come on—"

Clarke lets out a breath and slips into the bathroom, hoping that Bellamy won't hear the thud of the door.

Huh.

Maybe that fight with Echo is the reason for his shitty mood? Whatever it might be, it's not Clarke's business. They literally had sex _once,_ and Bellamy has not shown any sort of interest in her since then, his awful attitude aside. She doesn't care if his relationship is falling apart or not. It's even hard to imagine that Bellamy and the guy who fucked her in the bathroom are the same person... which might be due to the fact that Clarke avoids thinking about that at all costs. _You don't think about the way your manager's dick felt inside you._ Nope.

She manages to get another hour of work in before finding herself in another situation that, obviously, requires Bellamy's help. It's Harper's day off, Clarke can't spot Monroe anywhere, and the pen pressure suddenly feels off, no matter how many times she checks the settings.

Damn.

So she ends up in front of Bellamy's office door again, already building up her defensive walls as she knocks and enters.

Bellamy barely even looks up. "What?"

"My pen," she says, coming to stand a few feet away from his desk. "It's acting weird."

Bellamy's eyes turn to slits. "Seriously? Check the settings. I'm the manager, not your babysitter, Clar—"

"I checked the settings." Clarke feels her temper flare. "Everything's the same, but it's still weird. And you know what,” she spits, “for someone who said _let’s forget about the whole sex thing and start fresh_ you’re treating me an awful lot like crap!”

His only reaction is a careful lift of his brows. “If you mean that treating you like everyone else is somehow unfair, then all right. I’m being unfair.”

“Like everyone else?! You gave me that client! To me — an apprentice that has been here for less week! It’s doomed to fail, and you know it, you asshole!”

Now Bellamy’s the one blinking; he leans forward. “Clarke,” his voice is slow and gentle, and it makes her even angrier because he’s acting like she’s stupid, or worse, _fragile_ , “I’ve seen your resume and your skills in the last few days. I’ve seen your abilities. I _know_ that it’s something you’re perfectly capable of.”

Clarke gapes.

He continues, temper rising, “My job is to assess my employes and their capabilities and challenge them to do their _best_. Not their worst, not be mediocre, but their _best_ , all right? And if you expected to make coffee and tea all day and sit on your ass instead of doing real work, then maybe it’s not the apprenticeship you were looking for.”

_Goddamnit._

_Damn this._

_Damn_ him.

Swallowing down her shame and anger and the insults on the tip of her tongue, Clarke says, “I just — I didn’t think you really thought I was —“ She bites down on her teeth, _hating_ that she sounds like a three-year-old child that wants reassurance from their parent. “— I thought you were punishing me.”

“Punishing you for _what?!_ ”

Clarke throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know! For sleeping with you. For being here. Maybe for causing trouble in your relationship?”

His irritation shifts into amusement. "Trouble? My relationship's more than fine, Clarke."

The fight she overheard says otherwise, but Clarke's not about to admit that she accidentally listened to that, so she pushes down another angry retort and lets out a breath. "Okay, fine." After another moment, she forces out, "Sorry for yelling at you."

"It would have been deserved if I was the asshole you think I am," he shrugs, "but as a matter of fact, I'm not. I'm a fucking adult, Clarke, for fuck's sake. Stop expecting the worst of me all the time, will you?"

Not knowing what else to do, she rolls her eyes. Clarke really hates how she always ends up looking stupid in front of him when she's the opposite of that — smart, brilliant, big-brained, these were the words to describe her. Not neurotic and angry. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats and actually offers her something like a friendly smile instead of the lazy grins that drive her up the wall. "And check the tablet settings and then restart the program. Harper mentioned it glitches sometimes."

Clarke nods. "Thanks."

"By the way, you coming to the birthday party next week?"

"I'm.. not sure." Clarke awkwardly scratches the nape of her neck. "Don't get me wrong, everyone's super nice, but I'm not sure if I've unlocked the birthday party level yet.."

"Duh, you've been here for a week, but I think you'd have fun. No pressure. Just a few drinks and a relaxed atmosphere."

"I'll think about it."

"Good. If you decide to come, let me know. We're all pitching in to buy Jasper a mini-vacation to Amsterdam."

Clarke can't help but puff out a laugh. "How generous of you guys."

"Told you, we're nice," Bellamy says with a smirk.

The door slams open just as Clarke opens her mouth to reply. Echo comes in. "Bellamy," she says before offering one look into Clarke's direction, her eyes traveling up and down and narrowing ever so slightly. Then she turns back to her boyfriend and acts like Clarke's not even there. "Can we talk?"

"Give me a moment, babe." He glances at Clarke. "You need anything else?"

 _That's_ Clarke's cue to slip out of the room as fast as possible. "No. Thank you." As she walks back to her own desk, she finds an odd feeling in her chest—something like... hope.

Sure, Clarke's relationship with Bellamy will never be what it would have been if that night hadn't had happened, and yeah, he's in a relationship with a grinch, but maybe, just maybe, they can work towards something friendly and professional after all this. Perhaps she can actually learn and work for something bigger here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was under the assumption this fandom was half-dead so all your comments and feedback are a really nice surprise! thank you so much mates
> 
> (and if any of the HFASLM readers are here... i AM working on it...)

Leaning against the bar's sticky counter, Clarke's not sure if coming to the birthday party was a good idea, after all.

Jasper and Monty were very persuasive, though; Harper insisted it would be fun; Bellamy's wordlessly added her to the group chat for the gift; and once Clarke successfully finished her first job and her first real client, she felt excited enough to just say yes. Now, she's watching everyone mingle from afar and regrets the hasty decision. They all already know each other, sharing years of stories and adventures, having conversations Clarke can't really participate in without feeling like she's intruding. And as nice as her co-workers are at work, they're not going to go out of their way to include her in those things... so Clarke turns away from it all and orders herself a drink.

They're at a Karaoke bar — Eden. It's cozy, a small stage in the center of the room, and there's a wide variety of beverage and food choices. Clarke figures she'll have a drink or two, stick around until Jasper opens his birthday present, and then say that she has a headache.

"Here you go," the brunette bartender, that introduced herself as Gina, says sliding her drink over with a wink. "One vodka soda for Clarke."

Clarke smiles and gets out her wallet. "Thank you."

"The drinks are all on Jasper. You don't have to—"

"It's my tip," Clarke insists and leaves a crumpled five-dollar note on the counter.

"Well, thanks. I appreciate it."

Clarke spins around on the stool with the drink in her hand, watching the group of people she'll have to spend the next six months of her life with. Jasper's mashed between Monty and Miller, talking animatedly as his hands whip back and forth. Harper's on the other side with Monroe, giggling. Two of their co-workers are on the stage, singing _Country Roads._ Bellamy... Clarke saw him when she first arrived with Echo by his side, but now they're absent. She doesn't want to know what they're doing.

Even after two weeks at Ark Groups, she still can't put her feelings on Echo into clear words. She's been either overly _friendly_ or ignoring Clarke, but her smiles don't mean much in the grand scheme of things. There was a time in school when Clarke thought Echo was nice, too, and then boom, she turned out to be a huge bitch. Clarke would like to believe that time changes people, but sometimes no amount of years can replace the rotten personalities that fester inside.

At that moment, Bellamy and Echo enter the bar again, apparently having been outside. Judging by the stormy expressions on both of their faces, whatever went down there, wasn't good. Clarke only sees Echo's lips move in a hiss before she pushes away from Bellamy and storms off to the other end of the room. Unfortunately, Clarke's still watching when her gaze turns sideways, and Echo shoots her a hateful glare.

Jesus.

Clarke turns away, grimacing lightly, and _really_ thankful when Harper calls her name. "Hey, come over for a sec!" Grabbing her drink and bag, Clarke makes her way over to the booth. Monty pats the seat next to her, and when she sits down, she notices that _oh_ , Bellamy has joined them as well. He looks less irritated, more relaxed.

_More like the guy from the frat party._

Oh no.

"What's up?" Clarke asks, her voice high and cheery.

"Your thoughts!" Jasper exclaims.

"Huh?"

"What are you thinking of tonight?" Monty explains.

Jasper nods. "Can you imagine becoming part of the family?"

Clarke frowns. What kind of question is _that?_

Monty nudges her with her elbow. "We've noticed that you've been quiet tonight, hanging all by yourself at the bar. Are you not having fun?"

"Well," Clarke says, scratching at her cheek, "I got myself a drink." As if they needed to see the proof, she lifts her Vodka Soda, smiling awkwardly. "Here it is."

Monty and Jasper stare, and Clarke cringes. _God. What kind of reply was that just now?_ It's then that Bellamy clears his throat, shifting the attention away from Clarke. "You guys can be so damn annoying. Cut it out."

"It's fine," Clarke says. "It's fun. I'm having fun."

If they notice, that it's a blatant lie — and an awfully executed one, at that — they thankfully don't comment on it. Jasper mentions _another_ birthday that's coming soon. Then the conversation swiftly turns to all the plans and get-togethers they're having in the following months, which are, frankly, a lot. These people seem to be super tight.

Clarke wonders how they don't get sick of each other, hanging around every day at work and outside of it. Whenever she has to spend more than a few days with someone, she gets cranky, her social battery running out quite fast these days. It's partly the reason why her circle is so small. Raven's too busy to see Clarke every single day, and Wells — well, they grew up together. He's more _family_ than anything else, so she doesn't consider spending time with him draining. These people, however...

Soon, it's time for Jasper to open his presents, which he does, obnoxiously so, in the middle of the bar while everyone gathers around. Clarke somehow ends up sitting next to Bellamy during that, squeezed together, and pointedly trying to ignore the press of his infuriatingly hot skin. She's not sure why her mind's suddenly having all those sex flashbacks when she handled their one night stand just fine before — well, mostly.

Maybe _that_ is the reason; that they're outside the office, in a setting much similar to the frat party and Clarke's starting to feel tipsy, and there's loud, deafening music coming from the speakers.

Whatever it is, it needs to stop. That _one_ time was already humiliating enough, considering he's in a relationship with Echo. There's absolutely no need to dwell on it more than necessary.

Clarke wills herself to ignore her own thoughts and focuses on Jasper, dancing around because he's going on a trip to Amsterdam. He also got sparkly condoms, a backpack hand-designed by Maya, the concept designer, and a bunch of snacks. Jasper uses that opportunity to start ordering people to the stage, so Clarke averts her gaze as fast as possible, not nearly drunk enough for karaoke. With a gulp, she sees that the people at their table have dispersed, which leaves her alone with Bellamy right next to her.

Clarke takes a sip of her drink.

"Hey, can I talk to you about something for a second?"

Her heart stutters. "Sure." She turns to him. "What is it, boss?"

"Stop calling me boss outside of work, for one," Bellamy says, though he looks more amused than irritated. "And. I wanted to explain some things about your first client."

"Oh?"

"You thought I was too harsh on you, which isn't really a lie, I _was_ , but it's always been that way at Ark. When Harper first started, she got the same treatment as you. _Get the client. Do the work._ It might seem a bit much, but it's an excellent way to learn. However, our team's always open for questions and ready to give the rookies a hand.

I've been thinking, though, and I realize now it must have come off really wrong given our... past." Bellamy lets out a sigh and drives a hand through his hair. "What I'm saying is sorry for acting like a dick. It _truly_ wasn't because of anything personal. And just so you know, you're doing good. The client called and said she was pleased. You aced it."

Clarke feels her cheek flush with the praise. "I thought you were a huge asshole, yes, but I talked to Harper, and she told me that her first real job wasn't much different, so... I figured it was just the standard procedure eventually." She shrugs. "So, it's all good."

Bellamy nods. "Perfect. I just wanted to clear that up."

After another sip of her drink, she asks, "So are you not feeling up for karaoke, either?"

"Fuck no," Bellamy huffs. "I'm not in the mood today."

"Are you okay? Don't take this the wrong day, but I saw you and Echo earlier, and you both seemed to be a bit, uh, _annoyed_." She regrets saying that as soon as the words leave her mouth. Damn. Now Bellamy will think she's been watching them, but to her surprise, Bellamy seems unbothered when she dares to look at his reaction.

"Echo's pissed because we went to a bar where my ex works."

"Oh. The bartender? Gina?"

"Yup."

Clarke cringes. A dozen people here and Bellamy has slept with three of them. She really isn't slut-shaming or anything, but Bellamy seems to be a bit of a manwhore. Which is understandable when he looks like _that._

"I mean, it's Jaspers party. Why is she mad at _you?"_

"God knows," Bellamy mutters. "Apparently, since I'm the manager, I also have control over the places my friends throw their birthday parties at."

Wow.

Clarke bites her lip, wondering. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Something really personal."

"Go ahead, princess."

"Stop calling me that. It's kind of an inappropriate question, and you might get mad and fire me."

Bellamy turns to her with a look of exasperation. "Here," he holds up his pinky finger. "Whatever you ask, I won't get mad. And we're not at work, so I can't fire you. That'd be illegal."

Clarke doesn't trust the pinky thing, but when he gives her another expectant glare, she sighs and gives him her finger as well.

"Pinky promise," Bellamy murmurs, meeting her gaze. "Now spit it out."

"Why are you with Echo?" Clarke feels her heart race, but she pushes on. "From what I've seen, you two fight a lot over stupid, little things like _this._ And you were broken up for, what, a day, in which," she lowers her voice, "you slept with someone else before getting back with her and acting like everything's okay? It doesn't make sense."

For a moment, Bellamy's pinky tightens around hers. Then his muscles go loose, and he pulls away, the expression on his face unreadable. _This is it_ , Clarke thinks, _I really fucked up this time._ She can't go around asking personal questions to her _boss_ just because she drank a bit too much and had _one_ pleasant conversation with him!

"It's complicated," Bellamy murmurs ultimately. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and turns away. "Things are much more different than they seem on the outside."

Now, what does _that_ even mean?

Is he actually implying their relationship is better than it looks?

Clarke feels herself frown, but she can't do much than accept this answer. After all, Bellamy kept his promise and didn't get mad.

"Okay," she says. "I was just wondering anyway. Forget it."

Bellamy casts a sideways glance towards her. "If it helps, I never planned to sleep with someone else during our break up." Their eyes meet. "I just happened to see this cute, blonde girl and got carried away."

It's like someone turned down the volume of the outside world and narrowed everything down to Bellamy's voice and the beating heart inside her chest. Clarke opens her mouth to reply, but there's nothing she can say to that. She frowns. She clears her throat. She takes a sip of her drink.

"Okay, now _I'm_ being fucking inappropriate," Bellamy says with a curse. "Sorry—"

"No, it's fine," Clarke cuts in. She didn't think it was inappropriate. She just needed a moment to collect herself and _not_ replay what it was like kissing him or feeling his tongue between her legs or — "You couldn't have possibly known back then. And," her fingers tap against the glass between her hand, "hooking up with the man who will be my boss later wasn't on my to-do list either, but there was this hot guy and whoops."

Bellamy looks at her.

 _It's not flirting_ , she repeats like a mantra in her head. _It's mutual_ _understanding_. A _joke_ that borders on _inappropriate_ and _flirty_ but _isn't._

His mouth curves into a smile. Bellamy snorts.

Clarke laughs too, bringing up her glass for another sip but being graced with empty air. "Oh, I need a new drink," she says. "Be right back." She gets up and turns to the bar — and _straight into Echo._

_And her very red, very fruity cocktail._

"Oops," Echo says. "How clumsy, Clarke. Maybe you should look more about where you're going?"

For one glorious moment, she imagines decking Echo's face. Just one punch and Clarke could die happily without any regrets. But... they're in public, and this isn't a high school movie — though, Echo clearly didn't get the memo. "It's fine," Clarke says with a steady voice and presses out a court smile. She doesn't bother saying more, doesn't bother giving Echo the satisfaction of creating drama. Sometimes drinks get spilled. Shit happens.

The stain is a bitch to get out, though, she realizes in the bathroom as she desperately rubs at her white button-up. Why'd she have to wear white of all colors today? And why did Echo have to be such a dumb bitch?

"Clarke?" It's Bellamy's voice. "You okay?"

"I'm _fine._ It's just a shirt," she exclaims, shaking her head even though he can't see it. "You know, coming here after your girlfriend spilled cocktail over me on purpose because she saw us talking isn't the wisest choice."

"I don't care. That was a dog move."

"Whatever. I'm not going to cry about it."

"I can pay for it if you want —"

Clarke throws open the door. " _Go._ Before you actually ruin your relationship."

Bellamy doesn't seem angry per se, just annoyed, _tired,_ and as cheesy as it sounds, the hot and bothered look suits him. And he's _here._ Not with Echo.

Here.

Come to think of it, Echo has messed up a big part of Clarke's high school life. Clarke doesn't owe her any loyalty. Bellamy doesn't think that way either — at least, that's the vibes she got from him tonight. Technically...

"Go," she repeats half-heartedly this time, "or, I don't know, help me get the spot out."

She lets go of the door, leaving the choice to Bellamy, and as expected, as she _hoped,_ he's on her side of it when it falls shut.

Clarke tugs of a piece of toilet paper and dabs a bit of water on it. "She'll cut off your head, you know."

"I'm helping my _employe_ after my girlfriend acted like a child," Bellamy replies, voice gruff. "She'll get over it."

"Okay." Clarke looks down at her shirt. "This isn't getting out. I'm starting to think that I'm better off without any shirt."

"Clarke."

"What? I'm just saying."

"You're treading on dangerous waters here."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"But you're still here," she points out. He didn't leave.

Bellamy leans back against the door, crossing his arms. "I'm helping my employe."

"You're only standing around and not doing much of anything." It's the alcohol that makes her act this way. _It's all the alcohol,_ she thinks, as she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, then off, until she's left standing in front of him in a white lace bra. "The shirt was soaked," Clarke murmurs with a shrug. "Oops."

The satisfying sound of the door locking resonates through the small room.

Clarke closes her eyes for a moment. Jesus.

This will go up in flames. Someone will want to pee and notice. _Echo_ will notice that both her boyfriend and Clarke are missing at the same time. They will crash and burn, but for now, she doesn't care. Gasoline is running through her veins.

_"Fuck."_

They meet in the middle, Bellamy effortlessly grabbing her thighs and picking her up to place her on the sink. His lips land on her neck; Clarke arches into him.

"I didn't take you for someone so manipulative," Bellamy murmurs against the delicate skin before giving it a bite that borders on painful but feels good enough to walk the line. Clarke's fingers fist in the material of his navy blue shirt.

"Me neither, but you know," her breath hitches with every kiss against her skin, "I saw a hot guy and whoops."

Bellamy's chest rumbles with laughter before his tongue dances out to lavish the bruised flesh, and her own laugher shifts into a wordless gasp. It's unfair that something so forbidden feels so good. His lips travel upward until she can feel his breath ghosting across her cheeks. "No kissing, okay?"

It's... unexpected.

"Fine," Clarke murmurs and tugs at his hair. "I'm not here for kissing anyway."

She can feel his smirk stretch as he places a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on her chin, on her collarbones, then between her breasts. Clarke's breath stutters when his fingers travel to her back and unclasp her bra in one swift motion. It's a bit cold without any clothes on her upper body, but Bellamy takes quick care of that, leaving a trail of wetness as he brings his lips to her nipple, tongue darting out to dance across the sensitive bud. Clarke gasps, tightening the hold around Bellamy's back.

"Bellamy —"

"I know, I know," he says, reading her mind, "we don't have much time." They really don't, and their jobs are on the line here. "Your tits are too fucking gorgeous to neglect them, though." She can't even complain, her mind turning to static noise when he sucks them into his mouth, his other hand playing with the other breast, kneading and massaging the flesh.

"Bellamy," she whimpers. "Please, we really don't—"

"Okay. Fine." He doesn't exactly pull away, continuing to suck and nibble around her nipple, sending electric shocks up the length of her spine, but his hand wanders lower, slipping under her skirt, stockings, and panties. +

Her back arches when his fingers find her clit, giving it quick, maddening rubs.

"God," she moans.

"You gotta be quiet. Think you can do it so I can properly fuck you?"

"Yeah." She brings one of her hands to cover her mouth. "I can do it," she whispers, voice muffled.

As a reward, she feels him slip a finger inside her a moment later, long and perfect, grazing the spot that lets her whole body quiver — a spot that feels _just out of reach_ whenever she's on her own, but now it's there, and he hits it so well that it feels too much and not nearly enough at once.

"Think you're ready?"

Clarke nods. Instead of taking her right there and then on a sink — _for the second time_ , she notices in the back of her mind — he pulls her down and presses her against the wall, hitching her leg up as he undoes his zipper and pulls out his cock.

It's already hard and so decent-looking for a cock that Clarke feels giddy with the knowledge that he's going to fuck her n—

Several loud knocks cut through the room, breaking the moment. "Whoever's there, it's on sight!" Someone's voice, sounding vaguely like Monroe's, yells. "I'm going to piss my pants, and the men's bathroom is _disgusting!"_

Bellamy shakes his head with a puff of breath and turns back to Clarke. One of his hands lifts until he covers her mouth with it, and that gesture alone makes her moan, which turns into something more desperate and high when he slides his cock inside her, filling her to the brim.

"I hate this fucking family," the person on the other side of the door shouts and _punches_ the door.

Clarke half-laughs, half-groans when her eyes lower, and catches the sight of Bellamy sinking into her. It lets something loose inside her. Something she's only ever felt at two in the morning, all by herself.

"Bellamy," she mumbles against his hand.

He pulls back out, only to push back home with a vengeance, eliciting a high keen noise from her that, thankfully, gets muffled by his hand. The rhythm they set up is quick and merciless, Bellamy fucking her against the wall, and Clarke grinding back whenever her balance allows her to.

It's good. It is, but standing —

Clarke clings to his chest, trying to form words and sentences but ending up gasping instead. "I nee- I need —"

"What is it?" he murmurs against the crook of her neck. "What do you want, huh?"

"I need to, ah, come," Clarke's nails scrape down a bare spot of his back, "but not like — like, ah, this—!"

It takes a moment to register before Bellamy's hands are releasing her mouth and sliding down her body until he's grabbing the back of her thighs and picking her up. "Like this?" he asks. "Want me to hold you like this and fuck you against the wall?"

"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, yes, yes."

The thrusts feel more shallow, but being fucked like this does something to her. There's just something about gravity and orgasms that scientists have yet to explain! Looping her hands around his neck, Clarke lets her head fall back, trying not to make any noise, and allows herself to get consumed by this feeling. The position doesn't give her any room to do much but take it, and it's glorious. Clarke feels like she could fall at any moment, but it doesn't bother her as much as it should, instead making the place in her belly only coil tighter and tighter until she feels s _o damn close —_

Clarke lowers her hand and touches her clit. It takes a few moments, and then the world's coming down, her walls clenching in erratic spasms until she feels Bellamy pull out and come into his fist — barely so.

Once the afterglow dies down — and it does so fairly quickly in this disgusting public bathroom in a karaoke bar after a quickie with your taken boss — a wave of shame and guilt hit her.

It's not that guilt that has to do with Echo _._ Clarke doesn't care about her feelings. She's feeling bad because she never wanted to be the dirty mistress, especially after what happened with Finn and Raven. She's feeling shame because she might have just sabotaged her own career for a quick fuck. Even if it was a really good fuck.

When she gets out of her head, Bellamy's already straightening his clothes, his hands clean. To her utter surprise, he steps closer then and pulls up her stockings.

"You don't have to—"

"It's fine." Bellamy hands her the stained shirt, patiently waiting as she puts her bra back on. "I'll get out first and check the situation. I'll say I last saw you go in here because of the spilled cocktail."

"I can't... I don't want to get out there again."

Clarke needs a shower. A big glass of wine. Her bed. And Raven.

"I can tell them you went home because of a headache."

"My bag..."

"Do you want to get it before leaving?"

"No, it's fine. That will only make it suspicious. Can you give it to me at work?"

"Sure."

Good. That's good.

Clarke looks down at herself. It should be fine.

"You okay?"

"Perfect," she murmurs, avoiding his gaze. "I'm... nevermind. I'm fine."

Bellamy nods. "I'm going to check the situation. If I don't come back, leave the bathroom and then turn to your right. There's a storage room and a door that leads outside as well. No one will see you."

"Okay."

"Should I call you a cab?"

"I can walk or take the subway."

"Don't be stupid. I'll call ahead, tell them that you'll wait at the end of the street, okay?"

Clarke doesn't even have the energy to argue. "Thanks."

After one last look, Bellamy carefully opens the door and slips out. Seconds pass, and nothing happens. Clarke could use the toilet in the meantime but... it feels wrong to do it here, so she waits another moment before leaving as well. There's no one lingering. Just as Bellamy said, she's able to exit through the storage room.

As she waits for the cab, shivering in the chilly September air, Clarke wonders whether she just made the biggest mistake of her life, or if it's just another slip-up.


	4. Chapter 4

The very next day, Clarke all but forces Raven to come over for a girls day –  _ vagina day _ , as they like to call it when no one’s in earshot. She can’t help but skirt around the topic  _ Bellamy  _ and  _ Internship  _ though when her best friend is sprawled across the floor, a bottle of white wine to her right, and instead she fusses over unwashed plates in her sink, the hole in one of her slippers and that freaking spot on her cheek that itches like crazy. Needing a day of comfort and familiarity is one thing, but actually talking about the mess she just made of her career is another. And Clarke has never been good at verbalizing her feelings. 

But Raven’s not stupid and definitely not patient. 

“Okay, Griffin,” she says eventually, “spit it out.” 

Clarke’s hand stops on her cheek, and she blinks innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Raven snorts. “Please. I can smell your anxiety from miles away, and whenever there’s something you need to confess, you act like a fucking rabbit. So. What did you do?” 

“Okay, fine,” Clarke says with a sigh, “but you can’t judge me.” 

“Do you even know who you’re talking to?” 

Well… Raven did once have sex in the parking lot of a techno club two years ago. And pissed on someone's -- Finn's -- porch. And seduced a classmate of hers the day before an exam just to fuck with his head and get better results.

Clarke finally sits down and shakes her head. “Still. This is about morality and all that.” 

“My point remains.” 

“So you know the guy I hooked up with at that party?” 

“I remember you telling me – which, I still need more details of, by the way.” 

“Patience.”

“Not my strongest suit.” 

“I’m aware,” Clarke says, and her face loosens into a smile at last. This is going to be fine. “So I know this sounds like the plot of a shitty erotica novel,  _ but.  _ On the first day of my internship, I arrived and guess who turned out to be my manager?” 

Raven’s mouth parts. “No fucking way.” 

“Yes fucking way,” Clarke confirms, wincing as the words leave her mouth. “And that’s not even the best part –”

“There’s more?” 

“So much more,” Clarke whispers with her eyes closed. “So, you know, he invites me over into his office—”

“—and you fucked?!” 

“No! I mean… no.” Not  _ that _ time, she doesn’t say. “He was all,  _ let’s forget about this,  _ and I agreed because what else is there to do?” 

“Start an affair with your sexy manager and get your back blown out against a desk every day?” 

“Raven.” 

“I’m just saying.” Her friend lets her head fall back and lets out a long groan. “The possibilities… but go on.” 

“I didn’t want to be labeled the office whore who only got to where she is because she's sleeping with her boss, so I agreed, and then I look around, and I spot pictures. Of him and his girlfriend.” 

Raven’s face jerks back to her, and she shakes her head incredulously, but she doesn’t say anything, clearly understanding that not even this is the end of it. 

Clarke grabs the bottle of wine and gulps down several sips before continuing. Better to do this tipsy than sober. “And his girlfriend turns out to be Echo.” 

“ _ The  _ Echo _?”  _

“Yes,  _ the Echo _ ,” Clarke screeches. “The same one who leaked my nudes! The same one who thought it was funny to spread weird rumors about me! The same one who acted like  _ I  _ was the problem!” 

“You sure you didn’t dream all this up? 'Cause that's  _ crazy _ .” 

“I’m pretty sure.” Then Clarke holds out her hand in invitation and says, “Pinch me. Maybe I’ll wake up and discover that my dreams are just incredibly vivid and creative.”

Raven does. Clarke doesn’t wake up. 

“Well, shit,” Raven says then. “So he’s a cheater? That’s nasty.” 

“Apparently they were broken up over that weekend.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Uh-uh.”

“That’s bullshit. Why'd he still have pictures of them then?” 

“They got back together right after.” 

“Nah, I’m telling you. That’s even more bullshit. Who fucks someone at a party and then gets back together with their ex a day later? All men do is lie, Clarke. Don’t sabotage your career over someone like that.” 

Even though Clarke was sure that Raven would understand, that this would become one of those inside jokes/secrets that they could talk about when they're together, that confidence immediately deflates like a burst balloon, and she ends up holding her tongue. Stupid. She should have known this was not something she could tell Raven – or fuck, even  _ do _ . Make some c _ heat. Knowingly.  _

Raven’s as open-minded as they come, but Finn cheated on her back then. With Clarke. God knows how they ended up becoming friends anyway, but they did, and no matter how tough Raven is, she’s still human, and some scars are more sensitive than others. Cheating is one of them. 

“You did tell him to fuck himself, right?” Raven asks. 

“Yeah,” Clarke says because she  _ did _ . She just accidentally slept with him again anyway. “But we still agreed to act like it never happened. He’s still my manager, so I have to be polite in one way or another.” 

Raven considers that and then nods. “You could still ruin his career once you’re done with the internship then.” 

_ Not if she doesn’t want to lose all the connections she's currently making. _

“It’s Echo, though," Clarke murmurs with her brows scrunched up. "I’m not saying she deserves her boyfriend cheating on her, but…” That’s totally what she's saying.

“True,” Raven says, making a face, “but think about it the other way. Echo might deserve it, but a dude who cheats deserves to get shit blown up in his face, too, so you know. Fuck them both over and enjoy watching the world burn.” 

Clarke lets out a breath. 

She can’t do that. Despite her turbulent first few days, Ark Group  _ is _ a good place to work at. Even now, having been part of it only for a week, Clarke could see herself working there. Later. After the internship. After college. It's a warm and cozy but also modern atmosphere, and the work is both challenging and exciting. The people there are like a little family. Clarke’s still an outsider, but it's like she's being offered a view through the window right now to see if it's something that appeals to her and it does. The view is good. Fucking awesome. 

She can’t tell Raven that. 

She also can’t fuck Bellamy again. 

Even if it was good. God, it was so good that she spent one and a half hours fingering herself this morning just to try to get close to what it felt like being fucked by him. And somehow the idea of a work affair does sound hot. Really hot. But… it could end her career. And hurt a lot of people, even if Clarke knows that Echo deserves every last piece of it.

Clarke doesn’t want to lie to her best friend though, so as long as those two times stay two times, she can just consider them a little slip-up. A faux pas, if you will. 

“Sounds like something to think about in six months,” she finally says and raises the wine to her lips again. “Right now, I just want to get drunk.”

They finish two bottles, a bag of tortillas, one pot of shitty pasta, and three episodes of gossip girl before passing out in Clarke’s bed, not even making it ten minutes past midnight. Like true adults. 

\--

On Sunday, after waking up looking like a hot mess and indulging in greasy, unhealthy breakfast food with Raven before they part ways, Clarke plans to spend her free day getting some sketches done and catching up on cleaning duties she has been dutifully neglecting all week. However, all that changes when Clarke’s phone starts buzzing, an unknown number lighting up her screen. 

Clarke hates phone calls, so she watches it ring until it stops, then picks it up to google the number but—

** Hey, it’s Bellamy **

** Sorry I know this is very inappropriate but I’m in front of your apartment with your bag **

** Are you there or should I leave it somewhere safe?  **

_ What the fuck.  _

Clarke feels panic bubble in her chest before she squelches it down with a deep breath and grabs her phone. To be honest, she nearly forgot about the fucking bag, but now that she remembers, it would be useful to have it back before work, and – fuck. That means that she has to talk to Bellamy. Way sooner than she expected to. Sooner than she planned to. 

_ You’re a big girl _ , she tells herself as she gingerly presses the call button and holds it to her ear.  _ If you can sleep with someone, then surely you can talk to him for five minutes.  _

“So you  _ are _ there,” his deep and bemused voice greets him. 

“Sorry, I was, uh, doing the dishes,” she lies and scratches the back of her neck. “You’re really here?” 

“I am.” There’s a short pause and then, “I get it if you don’t want me to come up. I just thought you should have your bag back before –”

“It’s fine.” It’s very much not. “I’ll ring you up, okay? I live on the tenth floor.” 

There’s the sound of shuffling, and then she hears her door buzz. “See you in a minute then.” 

“Yeah,” Clarke says, and the line goes dead. 

For a moment, she just stares at her phone, horrified. Then she realizes that her apartment not only looks appalling but that  _ she  _ does too. Really, Clarke has long come to terms with her appearance. She likes what she sees in the mirror. She’s sexy, and cute, and her boobs are big, but damn it, none of that applies after a night of drinking and skipping her bed routine. Her skin is red, blotchy, dry, and disgusting. Her hair looks like a bird shat into it. 

Then the door rings again, and oh wow. 

It’s too late to change anything anyway. Clarke might as well embrace it. 

Maybe if Bellamy sees her like that, any chance of them hooking up again will once and for all vaporize into dust. And that’s probably – no,  _ most definitely _ for the best. Clarke is not going to have an affair with her boss. Not with this one, anyway.

She opens the door, and Bellamy’s on the other side of it wearing a… leather jacket that looks unfairly hot on him.  _ He _ looks unfairly hot. And Clarke does unfairly  _ not. _

“Hi,” she says and gives him an awkward smile. 

“Hey,” he says and remains rooted to the spot as if unsure whether he’s allowed to cross that line. He can. Clarke steps aside so he can enter. This whole situation is already awkward enough without them talking about their dirty business in the hallway where noisy Mrs. Batch could hear them. 

Bellamy’s gaze flashes around the apartment before landing on her. Clarke doesn’t recognize any disgust on his face, but she’s sure it’s inside there somewhere. 

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” she says honestly. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry again. I should have asked first, but I was in the neighborhood and…” That’s when he seems to remember the reason he’s here in the first place and hands her the bag that Clarke accepts with a smile and places it on a chair nearby before looking back at Bellamy. Again, here in her own four walls, he seems madly different. More gentle somehow, like all those rigid edges of his face and of his personality that he wears at work have been softened out. 

Clarke shrugs. “It’s okay. I guess we need to talk anyway.” 

“We do.” 

“Did Echo say something…?”

“Oh. No. I think she was too angry to even notice that I was gone.” 

“That’s... good.” 

For them, at least. For Echo, not so much, but who gives a fuck about that? 

There’s a moment of ripe silence before they both, at the same time, open their mouths and say, “So—”

Bellamy stops and waves at her. “You first.” 

Clarke exhales. “I was going to say,” she starts, “that… we shouldn’t do this anymore. It’s dangerous. For both, you and me. And it’s not worth the risk.” 

“Oh,” Bellamy says. 

That surprises her because it sounds like a surprised _ oh. _ The one you say when someone’s opinion differs from you so wildly it robs you of any other words.

Clarke cocks her head. “What were you going to say?” 

Bellamy looks at her for a moment, then slowly walks over to the couch, where he leans against the cushion, bracing himself on his arms. “I was going to go along with whatever you would suggest.” 

“Really? You don’t really seem like that type of guy.” 

His mouth twists into a laugh, low and throaty, and the sound shouldn’t sound so sexy, but it  _ does _ , so Clarke forces herself to look past him and at the wall behind him instead. Boring, plain wall. Nothing sexy at all. “I’m not, but you see, we’re in different positions here. I’m your boss. You’re my apprentice. So you decide where to go on from here.” 

It makes sense,  _ kind of _ , but Clarke doesn’t necessarily like it. Sure, at work, they might hold a different kind of power dynamic but here? In her apartment? They’re both the same. Just two people. And Bellamy shouldn’t hand over his opinion like that. 

Clarke crosses the arms over her chest, and maybe she delights a bit in the way that always makes her tits pop out even more. “So basically, you wanted to suggest something different, but you’re refusing to because you think I’m what…? More prone to follow your lead just because you’re my boss?” 

“I think that you like following orders, yes.” 

The answer is so blunt Clarke has to process it first. 

“Pardon me?” 

“It’s just an observation from what I’ve seen so far, but I think you like handing over control.” 

She… 

People call her  _ bossy _ all the time. Her parents always say that she’s  _ a natural-born leader  _ – back then, when they still hoped she would either become a doctor or go into politics. And Clarke herself knows that she likes to take over in projects because doing everything by herself is so much easier than watching people do it wrong. She likes her independence. Control.

The statement goes against everything that she believes in. 

And yet… 

She can’t help but think about it – giving up control – and feeling an undeniable thrill rush through her blood. 

Clarke swallows it down, refusing to agree with Bellamy, and frowns. “Then you must be full of shit.” 

Bellamy’s smile is only more aggravating. “I might be just wrong then. What I was saying is that, yeah, I’m giving you the freedom to choose, not because I think you will do whatever I say, but simply because I can’t have a say in this. It's that simple. So if you think it’s a bad idea, then fine. I’ll leave, and we’ll never speak of it again.” 

“ _ This _ ,” Clarke echoes, and she realizes that she sounds pouty. Jesus. "What would  _ this  _ even be? Sneaking around work and having an affair even though you have a girlfriend?” 

“Pretty much, yes.” 

“And you’d seriously be into that?” 

Bellamy shrugs casually. “You’re a good fuck, Clarke, so yes, I wouldn’t mind doing it over and over again.” 

Again, it’s so painfully honest and so blunt that it makes her breath catch. Somehow, it feels like she’s already lost because just hearing the words  _ good fuck  _ out of his mouth makes Clarke’s mind race in endless circles. All of them ending in the same scenario. 

“I take it your girlfriend’s not very satisfying in bed then,” she says because it’s the only thing that she can think of that doesn’t make her think about jumping him right here and now. 

“This isn’t about Echo,” Bellamy says. “This is about you. About you and me, and the chemistry between us that leads to very good, very satisfying sex.” 

_ No, no, no.  _

Clarke grinds her teeth together. “It is, though. I’m not sure I want to enter a relationship with a man – even if it’s just physical – that just… cheats on his girlfriend.” 

“Fair enough.” 

“What, that’s it?” 

Bellamy cocks his eyebrow. “What do you want me to say, Clarke? Do you want to hear a sob story about why I’m in a relationship with Echo? I could give you that, but ultimately it wouldn’t change a single thing because everything would still remain the same. So yes, that’s it. That’s all I have to say.” 

Swallowing, Clarke pushes a few strands out of her face. “The sex  _ was _ very good…” 

“And we could leave it at that.”

“Or…”

Bellamy says nothing, because, of course. It’s supposed to be  _ her _ decision. 

She shouldn’t. She should tell him to leave her apartment right now and take a cold shower to drown out that monstrous heat pooling in her belly, in her blood, everywhere, but  _ fuck.  _

It’s like Clarke’s hypnotized every time Bellamy's close. 

It’s like she can’t even think straight. 

Clarke doesn’t say anything for a while, then she blurts out, “You have a very nice cock.” 

Bellamy laughs but frowns. “Geez, thanks?” 

“I know I said I don’t want this but maybe if we set up ground rules and are really careful then—” Her fingers curl into fists, skin stinging from the sharp bite of her nails, almost enough to draw blood. Enough to ground her, even if just for a bit. “We’re two adults. We can do sex despite working together.” 

And she really, really wants this. 

Maybe she even needs this. 

For so long she has wondered at what point in life sex would turn from something that's just part of a relationship to the main event, something to be excited about, to look forward to, and now the opportunity is here. Standing right in front of her and looking at Clarke with a leather jacket and messy, ink-black curls.

“We could,” Bellamy agrees nonchalantly.

Clarke hates that he doesn’t look nearly as wound up about this as her while she’s squirming already, want pulsating through her like a faultline.

“Okay. Then yes. Fuck it. I want this. I want whatever this is.” 

She wants it so bad she can hardly breathe.

Bellamy smiles. “Okay.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know why I'm doing this


End file.
